


The Honey (Trap) - December 2017 to October 2018

by Xuxunette



Series: The Honey (Trap) [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bottom Severus Snape, Canon Compliant, Dom Harry Potter, Eventual Happy Ending, Knotting, M/M, Mention of Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Severus Snape Lives, Some Plot, Sub Severus Snape, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 16:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30058584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xuxunette/pseuds/Xuxunette
Summary: A series of one shots from Severus' life as a spy adept at sexpionnage.Severus is caught by a kiss.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Implied Others/Severus Snape - Relationship, Teddy Lupin/Severus Snape
Series: The Honey (Trap) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149902
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	The Honey (Trap) - December 2017 to October 2018

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if these work as oneshots anymore, you tell me.  
> Again, I think Severus is not right in his mind in this series.  
> Not beta-read.

_December 2017 to October 2018_

Cold, Wolf, Snow, Worm, and Pink.

Full moons went and the temperature crept up while the already yellowing picture of Severus' tropical bungalow remained taped to the wall, above his coffee maker.

Soon even misty Liverpool would manage weather clement enough to paint the sky outside the window a colour which could match that of his own portion of Mozambique.

He hadn’t visited his new property yet. 

Maybe fearing he would not return to England once he tasted climes fit for human dwelling. Or more likely, fearing he would come back despite them.

And he hadn’t moved house in a full year. A record interlude since his official death.

He didn’t need to. He had given up brewing illicit drugs, and his paid contact in the Muggle police was yet to send the coded message that warned him of troubles.

It made no difference to his finances. His lawyer had compensated him well for his various recipes, and he was a bona fides millionaire in pounds. Richer than he had ever dreamed, even if it was in Muggle money. 

It didn’t make him happy. All he could think of was the abject poverty of his childhood and how money could never buy time back. How it could never change the paths he’d taken.

“Mom, the other kids go to a special place to get new clothes. It’s called ‘shops’. Why can’t we go there too?”

“Because it’s too far away, darling. Now finish up your kidney pie before your dad comes home. You know how jealous he becomes when he doesn’t get a slice.”

“Of course Evans would be all over Potter. That arrogant idiot may be a Gryffindor, but he’s still the sole heir to the Potters’ fortune. Henry Potter is related to my great-aunt Victoria, you know. And that’s Mudblood women for you, Severus. Gold-digging tramps the lot of them. Now, open up and be still. I want to try something new.”

“Ah yes, Severus, is it? Lucius tells me you are a potions prodigy. You will have ample opportunity to exercise your talents at my side. And the Dark Lord always rewards plentifully those who serve him well.”

Still, Severus' small studio made him sick. It suffocated him. Made him want to pound onto the walls with his fists every morning he woke up to the sight of bleary white paint. 

But he hadn’t even contemplated moving. Most things made him nauseous these days, so he didn’t think it would make a difference. 

Of course, he never was a philanthropist bridling with enthusiasm for the cold harsh world but, at times, life had been tolerable.

Perhaps strangely so, and after the brief delusions of youth, the years he had spent watching Potter grow up and the Dark Lord grow back at Hogwarts had been such a time. 

Despite the danger, he had felt a sense of purpose then. A sense of consequence, of mattering in the grand scheme. A sense of having a mission that if executed well would yield… happiness? Penance? Redemption? 

That was Severus’ new working theory to explain his current behaviour: a twisted nostalgia, a magnetic pull toward the living proof of something he had accomplished.

Though masochism was still a good contender. The two were not mutually exclusive. 

Indeed, the only haunt where he could find peace of mind nowadays was 12 Grimmauld Place. His appointments with Potter gave him rhythm. Gave him a routine that anchored him, and a pace that moulded and contained him when inner and outer realities were so abhorrent they made him want to crawl out of his own skin. People like ants every day, breathing and living as if deserving of it. And as if Severus too was likewise deserving.

In its own way, Grimmauld had become a destination every bit as chimeric as his seaside bungalow. It was a place where he could escape the disappointment of having outlived his purpose. A place where he could slink into two familiar roles like well-worn sets of robes: the role of The-Boy-Who-Lived’s unlikely accomplice and the role of a used-up plaything who derived power from being degraded. 

Thither, in Sirius Black’s childhood bedroom, both roles blended together cruelly yet seamlessly; throwing into exact relief the mean by which the name of Severus Snape had merited its place in wizarding History with an honesty that felt like catharsis.

Although, even there the lines were starting to blur.

The second full moon on which Potter let his godson fuck him had been as bad as the first. 

Lupin hadn’t torn him, Potter having averted the worst by manually preventing his godson’s canine knot from entering him before it could be locked within. But it had hurt as badly.

Potter supplied the usual care and went down on him again, though Severus hadn’t reciprocated. He had shrugged on his clothes and left while his semen was still wet on Potter’s lips. 

Because he too knew how to stir dark desires with calculated deprivation.

The third full moon saw an improvement comfort-wise. Lupin had shown more control and hadn’t needed Potter to keep himself from ripping or biting; the creature simply held still during the knotting that hadn’t lasted as long. 

There wasn't a restraining necklace around the creature’s neck on that day, and Severus concluded that Potter and his godson had struck some kind of deal.

Severus managed a dry orgasm from the sensation of extreme dilatation. 

Potter and he didn’t touch beyond the aftercare which had still been needed and which Potter always meticulously granted.

Severus knew what that was about. Potter was letting another hurt him before acting the comforting party himself. Taking on the role of the safe anchor in order to elicit an artificial sense of gratitude from Severus. Laughable. Shrewder wizards, with more finesse in shades of sadism, had tried that one on Severus already. 

By the fourth full moon, the beast and he reached, under Potter’s watchful eyes, a sort of carnal complicity. Lupin had penetrated him while his knot wasn't yet so big as to cause pain upon insertion and had found a light swaying motion while being locked within that had soothed them both. 

Severus reciprocated by milking the beast with his arsehole. It sped up the process and had provided him with an ejaculation of his own.

Last full moon, as Lupin stroked his belly while pumping him full of come, Severus had thought — half-delirious with the sensations that were still quite intense, no doubt — that it may be sex after all.

Before the had session started, Lupin had spoken in Severus’ presence for the first time in five months. He had addressed Potter without sounding petulant or vengeful (Potter’s plan did seem successful in lifting some of the wolf's shadow). 

“Why do you tie him down?” Lupin asked. “I don’t like it.”

Potter hadn't replied right away. The answer that eventually came had been, “It’s not about what you like, Teddy.”

“Is it about what _you_ like then, Harry?” had asked Lupin. 

After that, Potter said nothing when Edward undid the ropes binding Severus’ wrist and ankles. Though Potter had approached the bench to search Severus’ face for a sign. 

Severus, who had been less incensed by Lupin talking as if he wasn't present in the room than by Potter’s continued insecurities, had turned his head to look at the wall instead.

He was done signifying to Potter what _he_ wanted. And if Potter fancied letting his godson undo his ties, then so it be. He could endure that too. And he did.

July’s full moon was perched outside Severus’ window.

It was named the Flower Moon, and it made Severus think of lilies. 

Of the long petaled blossoms he had never gifted anyone, and with which he had adorned no shared tomb. 

"Don't look at me like that, Sev. Professor MacGonagall assigned the pairings for that project. I swear I'll be pinching my nose the whole time I have to sit in the library with that pretentious toerag."

"Don't tell me what to do, Sev. I'm trying out for Chaser because I want to. It has nothing to do with Potter and his little gang."

"Don't touch me, Severus. And stop following me around. I told you we weren't friends anymore. You go back to your clique of wannabe Death Eaters. And tell Mulciber and Avery I'll get them back for what they did to that first year while you are at it." 

Would it have changed anything if he had been more romantically inclined? More intrepid in acts of conventional seduction? Surely, it had always been his attraction for the dark on top of a questionable physique that had made him a less than desirable suitor?

And maybe was there revenge in fucking James Potter’s son?

Because they did fuck now. Had been for two months.

Harry Potter had been ripe for reaping on Worm Moon, and Severus had reaped.

It had been the first time Severus had reached a complete orgasm while being mated by the beast, and he had sensed something in Potter’s behaviour afterward.

There had been a shiftiness in the way the emerald green eyes had avoided his when Potter had come near to untie his wrists; something contained yet waiting to overflow in the way Potter’s had been more deliberate than usual in slithering the lengths of black ropes out of metal hooks.

After Potter untied him, Severus reached out before he could be transported to the bed, and Potter had stilled. He had stared at Severus’ outstretched hand that had caught the sleeve of his light knit jumper, before slowly sliding his gaze up to Severus’ face.

Still prone on the bench, Severus had moved ever so slightly, arching his back the tiniest of fraction, to raise his sore rump an inch higher into the air. He uttered a single word.

“Please,” he had whispered to the green-gazed wizard armoured with rounded glasses.

And the last mask fell.

Potter took him on the bench, his godson’s sperm that had been still hot in Severus’ guts indecently splashing Severus’ arse and thighs as it squished out on each shove of Potter’s cock. 

And then Potter took him again on the bed, after having cleaned and applied the healing salve to Severus’ abused anus.

“I’m still free on Monday and Thursday,” he said to the ceiling, before leaving the room and Severus whose numbed hole was still dripping the Boy-Who-Lived’s spunk.

Ever since he had reacquainted himself with Potter, Severus had wondered if, deep down, Potter was punishing him for Lily and James Potter’s deaths. Or Black’s, or Albus’. Or perhaps for the many detentions and petty points taking. 

Sometimes it felt like it, sometimes it didn’t.

All Severus knew was that it got him off.

When it was only the two of them, Potter used him in all the expected ways, though there was less pain than Severus had predicted. Potter seemed uninterested in rougher forms of entertainment beyond an inclination for near dry anal as an overture. 

Severus didn’t mind, he wanked to the memory of the burning ache between appointments.

The bench was never involved, and the toys weren’t used much either outside of keeping Severus full whilst Potter recuperated between erections; the time Potter had made him sit on his prick with a ridged wand still inserted notwithstanding. 

Potter simply screwed him in every position available to his protesting joints, and the ropes aided some poses that the latter didn’t permit.

There were enough abandon and ruthlessness in the act for Severus to go back for more. No consuming kisses, no enticing caresses, no pretences, just raw buggery.

Every time The Savior of the Wizarding World jizzed inside him while having Severus’ face pressed into the mattress, or Severus’ knees hanging around his own ears, Severus felt a perverted elation to be the one servicing such a bloody hero with his chafing fuckhole.

Every time Potter made him eat his own spunk by bending him into a posture that had his shoulders twinge for days afterwards, or shoved a cock freshly yanked out of Severus' quivering arse into Severus' slobbering mouth, Severus jubilated in the proof that Potter wasn’t such a poster-perfect, Golden Boy after all. 

And every time Potter cleaned up after the mess he had made by wiping Severus’ butt with a deference fit for a toddler’s behind, Severus wondered what would Lily say and if she was weeping in her grave yet.

Twisted nostalgia, masochism, or both.

Then, on Monday last, when Potter had whacked Severus’ arse to make Severus tighten up around his cock, Severus had come so hard and so fast, he hoped Potter had taken the hint.

He may still upgrade Potter from best fuck in three decades, to just best fuck. It would make the inevitable end to the temporary pocket of insanity messier to detangle, but regrets over missed opportunities never filled the void within. 

He could already picture how disgustingly apologetic Potter would be when — remembering that he was a father of three or simply when the novelty of banging a former teacher and enemy had worn off — he’d ask to transition back to not seeing Severus outside of full moons, if at all.

Yes, Severus could perfectly see in his mind’s eye the embarrassed lips and candid brows that would be served with the insincere remorses, and when that day came Severus was going to make Potter sweat for it.

His spirits lifted by the prospect of outplaying Potter and his cock and arsehole heated from his reminiscing, Severus abandoned his teacup in the kitchen sink and checked that the jar of healing salve was tucked in his pocket, before shrugging his on longcoat and exiting his studio.

When he reapparated outside of Grimmauld, Potter was already there, waiting on the last step leading up to the front door.

He was alone.

Before Severus could smooth his puzzled brows, Potter said, “Teddy’s coming by himself. He shouldn’t be long.”

Severus opened the door with his key without a word.

“He is better now. More like his normal self. During the full moon and afterwards. Actually, he’s improved so much, it’s night and day. He can be trusted to keep his appointments on his own now, and to come here unsupervised.”

Potter’s voice was carefully uninflected. Severus felt as if oxygen had rarefied around him. 

That was sooner than he expected. 

Potter was going to ask Severus to attend to his godson without him present, now that the latter no longer needed supervision.

That was the only explanation for him arriving early and on his own.

Severus had outplayed his hand. He had revealed too much: the way he had so enjoyed being walloped by Potter last time they were together had disgusted the man, and now Potter was going to politely distantiate himself. He should have known, as a delicate Gryffindor, Potter’s hypocritical sensitivities could only be offended by an overt yearning for punishment.

Severus kept silent as he led the way upstairs. 

He hated himself for wishing for more steps to climb. So that the ugly things erratically wrenching in his chest would have time to go away. So that his poker face wouldn’t crack when he would have to turn and look into the emerald green gaze.

Severus forced a steadying breath to calm the melodramatics surging inside. 

No.

 _No_.

No. Potter was playing with him, is all. It was all game. _The game._ Could only be. Potter was only prodding Severus to see how far in Severus had gone. Poking him with a stick to see if Severus would flinch.

Chilling calm descended upon Severus as his impassive mask slid back into place with the reassuring thought. 

Well, he wouldn’t flinch. And he would make Potter pay with a smile.

But Potter didn’t make further conversation, and he was still there when Edward Lupin bolted up the stairs and onto the fourth-floor landing some twenty minutes later.

“I’m not late, am I?” asked the creature, still out of breath.

“No. You… No,” answered Potter. 

When the front door’s bell had rung, Potter had insisted that Severus be the one to unlock the door downstairs, claiming he had placed a charm that made it impossible for anyone but Severus to do so.

Naked, Severus strode back to the bench and laid himself down, and Potter began tying his wrists to the metal hooks. 

He didn’t meet Severus’ gaze. The green-eyed wizard had had Severus’ throat before his godson’s arrival.

“Why are you tying him down again?" asked Edward. "Like I said last time, I don’t like it.” His voice was carefully mild as it boomed in the silent room. It reminded Severus of Lupin senior.

Something flitted across Potter’s features; Severus couldn’t have said what. His hands stilled at Severus’ wrist and he looked up into Severus’ eyes. Severus looked away.

Potter lingered a moment longer, crouched nearby; before standing up, black ropes abandoned onto the floor. He moved toward Severus’ raised hindquarters, out of Severus’ view.

“And I can do that. Let me,” said Lupin.

“No,” Potter answered as Severus felt oily lube being spread around his anus with light fingers. “He needs to be prepared properly or you’ll hurt him. Badly.”

“I know. I know what he needs. I have more control now. You know it. You’ve seen it,” replied Lupin, his tone still mild.

“I said no, Teddy,” Potter said, his voice impressively final. A slim dildo breached Severus’ entrance.

Lupin didn’t insist.

When Potter was done, Lupin mounted Severus.

Perhaps trying to prove a point, he was particularly careful. 

Perhaps also trying to prove a point, or to avenge himself for the disquiet Potter had caused him earlier, Severus was particularly wanton. 

He clamped down on the edge of lacerating discomfort Lupin’s canine knot still caused him, and put on a show of moaning, rolling his hips and pushing back like a Knockturn whore; his orgasm hit him unexpectedly, the spasmodic contractions in his arsehole wrenching animalistic yowls from Lupin.

Aroused, Lupin finished quicker, collapsing heavily atop Severus’ back as he emptied himself with his knot twitching inside. Severus felt his deflating shaft slip out of him after maybe twenty minutes. 

But Lupin didn’t move away. 

Instead, he continued to rub his doughy groin against Severus’ sperm covered backside as he mouthed and licked Severus’ shoulder blades. 

“Teddy,” Potter’s voice echoed tensely in the room.

“Don’t, Harry," Lupin said. "I want to make it good for him. Really good. Let me have that.” 

Then, Lupin’s voice lowered to a husky rumble, “Why don’t you join us? I can smell you on him, you know. And I can smell you're hard for him right now.”

Potter did. After Edward coaxed a renewed hard-on out of Severus, Potter took Severus’ mouth again while Lupin’s beastly prick reamed Severus’ fuckhole anew.

Severus wouldn’t have thought Potter had it in him, but the boundary of committing fornication in the company of his own godson shattered like some flimsy sugar tuile.

Mercilessly screwed from both ends, suspended like a rag doll that was nothing but two holes for the two other men to violate, Severus came like a freight train.

Potter belted him on the following Monday and paddled him on Thursday. Then it was the cane, the whip, and the belt again. 

On Strawberry Moon, Lupin and Potter took turns between Severus’ legs.

“Yeah, he likes that. I can taste it in his sweat,” Lupin said as Potter jabbed away into Severus' over-abused rectum, and as he himself dragged his fingernails cruelly into the flesh of Severus’ buttocks. "He likes the pain when it's you."

Between his monthly beastly rendez-vous, and the bi-weekly sessions with Potter (Potter never missed them, appearing at Grimmauld smelling of seaweed and sun and with his hair still wet in July and August), Severus’ body hardly had time to recover. His skin swelled all over with sensitive aches from bruises healed by magic, his throat burned at the passage of lukewarm tea, and his cock and arsehole felt constantly inflamed, wet and needy.

The corners of his bungalow's photo printed out on A4 curled up above his coffee maker. 

He fleeted in and out of the sexual daze. Like a blissful coma.

It was not until the Hunter Moon that Severus sensed something was going amiss.

Edward was fucking him on the bed in missionary (they had trespassed the safe confines of the bench months ago) while Potter watched and recovered. 

Being knotted in that position — with the creature atop him while he was sprawled on his back with both legs up in the air — felt like nothing Severus had ever known. By now his arsehole was used to the extreme stretch, and the knot went deeper into Severus' guts as beast semen trickled straight into his colon. The angle jammed Lupin's bulb directly against Severus’ prostate; it milked Severus from within with every breath Edward took.

Potter was kneeling nearby, hand idling across Severus’ chest. He was torturing Severus’ left nipple when Lupin completely folded Severus in two with the weight of his upper body and reached his neck to crush his mouth against Severus’ lips. 

It was the first time Lupin kissed him. And Severus responded like a starved man, writhing and whimpering uncontrollably as Lupin's prick and knot went even deeper with the changed position.

Potter, who hadn’t touched Severus’ lips again other than with his cock and balls since their first time together, growled.

A low, rumbling and dangerous sound that Severus thought was coming from Lupin, until Potter seized Edward by the hair to tear his godson’s mouth back and away from Severus.

For a long while, the two men stared at each other over Severus’ prone form. 

Lupin lowered his gaze first and bent his neck to lap at Severus’ right nipple.

Potter fucked him again that day, after his godson was gone. Face to face and hard enough to make Severus scream like a mad banshee.

When he too left, Severus wondered at the gnaw of teeth at his chin. 

The game was now his to win.


End file.
